


Grass is Greener

by hotchoco195



Category: DCU Animated
Genre: Abusive Partner, Crimes & Criminals, Escape, F/F, F/M, Gotham, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:36:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley's feeling disillusioned at Christmas when she meets someone new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grass is Greener

Welcome to Gotham, Corruption City. Something about the place just grinds you down. Maybe it’s the concrete that stretches almost to the horizon, or the yawning gap between the vacuous social elite and the poor, but somehow the city’s lost its soul – and it’s not the only one.

I drag my feet tonight, shuffling through the office commuters as they squeeze in some last minute Christmas shopping. For the first time in a long time I don’t want to go home. Of course, home is an abandoned balloon factory currently inhabited by two hyenas, a bunch of masked minions and a crazed clown-faced sociopath who switches from affectionate to cruel in a heartbeat. Mr J used to be my everything, but with the holiday spirit bearing down on me he’s just not cutting it. We can’t even have a tree, just a silly little tree with some oversized presents and a cheery bauble or two. My funny man’s lost his sense of humour and I don’t know how to get it back.

I wander around the department stores, half-heartedly planning how I’d swipe the good stuff. It’s just not the same though. For once I’m blending in with the crowd, and it’s both terrifying and exciting. I’m not a fugitive, I’m not a pathetic headcase, I’m not a sidekick – I’m just another blonde looking at jewellery. I sigh.

“No one should be sad at Christmas.”

I look up into eyes the same green as Mr J’s hair and shrug.

“I don’t see much to be glad about.”

She smiles. Her lips are wickedly red, which should clash with the brassy orange of her hair but doesn’t. She’s dressed sort of bookish in a pale green suit, the sort of thing I wore back when I was a respected psych.

“Have we met? You seem awfully familiar.”

That’s my cue. “I don’t think so. I should get going.”

“That’s a shame. You seem like you could use some retail therapy.”

Her voice is soft, not mocking or pushy or prying, just kind of nice. It’s a long time since anyone’s been nice to me – even before Mr J.

“Maybe another time, when we’re not in danger of being crushed in the race for pillowcases and bubble bath.” I smile.

“I’d like that. My name’s Pamela.”

“Harleen.” The word seems strange in my mouth; it catches on my tongue a little. Harleen’s who I was and can probably never be again.

“Here’s my number,” she digs through her clutch and draws out a plain white card, “Call me if you’d like to get a coffee and do some window shopping.”

I tuck it in my pocket and she grins, walking back towards Tableware. I can’t decide if I’ll call her or not and I change my mind a dozen times on the walk home.

 

Bud and Lou rush to the door as I step in, fighting over who gets to lick my face first.

“Calm down babies, there’s enough of me to go around.”

I look up from my armful of wiggling hyena and Mr J is standing behind them, arms crossed and foot tapping with his serious face on.

“Hey puddin’.” I smile weakly.

“Where have you been! Those infernal creatures will not stop yapping and none of the boys can shut them up like you. I can’t find my good suspenders, there’s nothing in the fridge, and that dratted Two-Face sent me a joke Christmas gift.”

“That’s sweet of him.” I attempt.

“Sweet? If there’s going to be any jokes around here, they’ll come from me!”

“Yes Mr J.” I leave the pets and trudge towards the kitchen to see if there’s anything edible. He stops me with a hand on my shoulder and reaches out to trace my cheek.

“You look so different without your costume. The makeup suits you better.”

He turns and heads for his big chair by the TV, leaving me to wonder what my place is in his version of reality – but only until he snaps and I head back to the kitchen.

*****

It’s the day he slaps me that I remember the little white card in my jacket. It’s New Year’s Eve and his big scheme to dangle Batman from the countdown clock has gone wrong, as usual. I hustle him off to safety, blood pouring from a Batarang gash on his arm, and when I pull the car up at the balloon factory he looks around as if he hasn’t noticed where we are.

“Why are we here Harley?”

“Got to get you fixed up Mr J. That nasty old bat gave you an ouch.”

The blow is cold but my cheek feels like it’s burning.

“Knucklehead! This is the first place he’ll look for us! Go somewhere else!”

“Where?” I stutter.

“How should I know? Just somewhere else.”

When we’re finally holed up in a tiny apartment in some condemned high rise downtown, when Mr J is sleeping sound with his arm bandaged and his hair mussed, I take out the card. _Dr Pamela Isley, expert in botany and toxicology_. A fellow academic then. There’s a phone number, and I sneak out to use a pay phone. A machine answers; I’ve forgotten how early it is.

“Hi, Pamela, it’s Harleen. So sorry to bother you, I mean you probably don’t remember me but you gave me your card just before Christmas and said if I wanted a chat I should call. If you’d still like to meet, I’ll be at the William St café today around 1.”

I hang up feeling like the biggest idiot. How am I going to find an excuse to go out? What if she doesn’t even come? What are we going to talk about? ‘ _Oh yeah, last night my sort-of boyfriend and I tried to kill the town vigilante while dressed as mad clowns. How was your New Year’s?_ ’ I feel sick. Maybe I should just forget it.

When I get back to the room Mr J demands breakfast and says we can’t go back for Bud and Lou.

*****

“Harleen!”

She’s already at a table, waving me over as I sidle nervously past the society types. I picked this place because it seemed like her sort of hangout, and it seemed equally likely the Bats wouldn’t think to find me here. Right now it makes me feel more exposed than ever.

“I’m glad you called,” she beams as I sit, “I already ordered tea for two, I hope that’s okay.”

“Sure. I’m not much for caffeine anyway – it makes me hyper.”

“I’m surprised so many people are out and about today, after last night’s…excitement.”

I wince. “Yeah, well you can’t keep a good Gothamite down.”

“I guess if people stayed home after every ridiculously themed supervillain attack we’d never leave the house.”

“You weren’t at the square last night were you?” I ask, suddenly worried.

“Oh heavens no, I was at a charity benefit for the university. They’re kind enough to let me use their equipment so I feel obliged to make an appearance.”

“Do you teach?” I cut off the inevitable question about my New Year’s Eve and accept a cup from the waitress.

“No, I’m working on a research project to find eco-friendly alternatives to the current Gotham expansion plans.”

“Sounds like hard work.”

She smiles wryly. “Well it’s certainly not easy to convince rich industrialists they can live with less money. What do you do?”

The truth slips out before I can even think about a safe answer. “I’m a psychiatrist.”

“Really? That must be terribly interesting.”

“Yes, it was, once upon a time.”

“Ah, I see.”

Mercifully she changes the subject, and before long we’re talking about her childhood in the country and how I could never get a date in high school because all the boys were afraid of me, about her dreams to buy some land in South America and study the plants and how I’ve always been more of a dog person. It’s easy to talk to her, though I can’t tell if my honesty is flowing freely or being drawn from me like a puppet on a string. She coaxes me through the embarrassing stories and her laugh is welcoming, warm. When she talks about her work she has a very intense gaze; her eyes turn a deep emerald that makes me think of velvety moss and lush gardens.

“Tell you what – I’m having a little party next weekend. It’s nothing special, just some folks from the university and the usual benefactors, but I’d love it if you came.”

I can barely swallow my tea around the lump in my throat. I want to. I want to have a sophisticated night out surrounded by intellectuals like I used to have, I want to bask in this woman’s attention and admire her house and more than anything I want to have some fun. Mr J is the giant flashing image in my head as I sigh.

“I’ll try. I mean I’d really love to but it depends…some of my patients can be very restricting.”

“All the more reason to let your hair down Doc. Just tell me where to send your invitation.”

“Um, it’s a bit complicated at the moment. I’m kinda moving, haven’t got the mail thing sorted out yet. What if you just write it down?”

She smirks but indulges me, scribbling on a napkin in shockingly red lipstick.

“8 o’clock, alright? Please come.”

“No promises.” I smile sadly.

She winks. “I’ll see you there.”

Mr J is freaking out when I get back, but I tell him I was scouting for trouble and he calms down. I can tell he wasn’t really worried; he’s too distracted by Bats getting away again. He paces up and down the small living room in just his trousers and suspenders, wringing his gloved hands as he goes over and over the night’s failings.

“You should let me take a look at that cut.”

“The last time I checked Harley, your qualifications didn’t stretch to actual doctor.”

I stiffen for a second before going into my customary droop, but he’s already forgotten me.

*****

I had to steal a dress because when the henchmen went back for the stuff at the balloon factory they missed a whole chest of my clothes. The sheath is lovely, a clinging red satin that draws attention to my pale skin and leaves my shoulders bare. My hair hangs loose in a tumble, more carefree than I feel as the taxi stops at Pamela’s gate.

“This it?” the driver barks.

“Yeah I think so…just a second.”

I wind down the window and the security looks me over.

“Invitation?”

“Dr Isley is expecting me. I should be on the list, Harleen?”

He glances at his clipboard for a moment and waves us through. The driveway is long, not Wayne Manor long but still substantial. I can see why though, admiring the gardens that twinkle with fairy lights on both sides of the path. Pamela obviously likes to bring her work home. The house is simpler, and I sigh with relief. There’s a few other people getting out of much fancier cars and I throw a twenty at the cabbie before sliding out. The entrance hall sparkles with the collected jewels of the guests, and I find myself wondering again how I could nab some and slip away. _Stop it. That’s not why you’re here_.

“Harleen!”

She’s stunning – there’s just no other word for it. She makes every coiffed and glittered woman in the room look like a painted doll in comparison. Her dress is the deepest, richest green velvet I’ve ever seen, hugging her curves as it sweeps down to the floor and leaves her back exposed. She has flowers in her hair and I have no idea what they are but I bet they’re exotic, and she can probably tell me everything there is to know about them anyway.

“I made it after all.” I joke.

“I’m so glad! The band’s just started and they’ll be wanting me to make a speech but after that would you like to see the house?”

“Sounds great.”

She disappears with a wink and I’m adrift, surrounded by people I’ve probably held at gunpoint at one gathering or another. I get that horrid acidic feeling in my stomach again and head for the punch bowl, watching as people start to get pulled onto the dance floor and wondering how I ever thought this was a good idea. Pamela gets called up to make her speech, and after she’s thanked everyone for coming and done the usual hostess thing, she comes straight over to me.

“Ready for that tour?”

I nod and snag another glass of punch.

I barely pay attention as she shows me through the kitchen, the dining room, the living rooms. She’s much more interesting, and I try hard to nod in the right places while watching how her lips curve up when she talks, how happy and proud she looks as she points out little souvenirs from past field trips. Finally we get to her lab upstairs.

“I have a much bigger one in the yard, with a greenhouse and all my everyday tools, but this one is for specialised work.”

The machines seem extra mundane and unfeeling next to the beautiful specimens flowering along the benches. Vibrant purples and blues, twisting vines, blossoms as big as my head – every plant gave off an aura of being loved and well-tended.

“These are your babies.” I say quietly with no little awe.

“I suppose they are.”

“Mine are hyenas.”

It just tumbles out on the back of three glasses of punch, but she doesn’t say anything, just frowns a little.

“If you want to see my absolute favourites, you’ll have to come in here.”

She waves me down the hall to her bedroom. There’s a big bed with satin sheets in a pale lime, the dark wood of the bedhead imposing against creamy walls. There’s a balcony with gauzy drapes looking out over the gardens, a few bits and pieces furniture-wise, but the main focus of the room is on the bedside table.

“Oh my goodness…it’s breathtaking.”

The rose is as big as my fist and its petals fade from a deep magenta in the centre to the most delicate lilac at the edges. It seems almost alive, like it’s quivering from my admiration.

“I created it myself. I call it the Morning Rose.”

“That’s amazing. I can’t do anything like that.”

“But you help people, don’t you? I’m not very good with people – I guess I prefer my darlings.” She reaches out and pets the rose’s stem with a very maternal look.

“I’m not that great. Most people only become shrinks because they’re so messed up themselves.” I laugh.

She’s very close now. I can smell the lily of her perfume, so strong in the quiet of her room. I guess the party is still going on downstairs but I can’t hear anything, just my own breathing getting heavier as she brushes against me to caress the plant again.

“We’re all a little damaged. It comes from living here, with these people.” She sounds indifferent but there’s a spark in her eye.

“I have a theory about that.”

She straightens up, pressing against me just slightly. “Oh?”

“Gotham’s lost her soul. It’s all the concrete’s fault.”

“Yes.”

Her gaze is too much and she’s standing so close now. I glance away, hoping to find something to break the silence. I get it over our heads.

“Mistletoe.”

“A little leftover decoration. I’d take it down but I’m a sucker for greenery.”

“Strange place to hang it.”

“You know what they say about standing under the mistletoe.”

I want to say something but my mind’s shutting down as she closes her hands over my hips and leans down. Those red, red lips touch mine and suddenly words explode behind my eyes, things like _God_ and _yes_ and _more_ and _wait_ and _never_ and _how, how did I miss this_?  Whole novels are being written in the tangle of my thoughts, symphonies are composing themselves in the rapid beat of my heart and my gasps. I seem to have started kissing her back without too much effort, my hands clutching at her shoulders as she drowns me in her lily-scented orange waves. No one has ever kissed me like this before, like they’re going to drink me all in until I don’t exist outside of this simple contact. I’ve never kissed a woman and the differences throw me off a little at first, but soon I’m sliding my hand along her sides and revelling in the softness of her lips. She has her fingers threaded through my hair now and refuses to let me catch my breath for a long moment, finally breaking away to kiss my forehead.

“Wow.”

“Oh good, it’s not just me then.” I mumble.

“Have you ever…”

And I’m not sure what she’s asking but I shake my head. “No.”

“Do you want to...”

“Yes.”

She kisses me again and this time I’m ready, sinking back into those depths as she unzips my dress. I duck out of the halter neck and she slides it down my body, brushing my stomach with silky strokes as she pulls me closer. The velvet of her dress feels even better than it looks and I sigh happily, knocking the flowers from her hair as I rest my hand on her jaw. She walks me backwards til my knees hit the bed and I sit, switching my kisses to her chest. She’s fussing with her zip but I’m too preoccupied to help, running my fingers up and down her thighs. Pamela finally gets it and the heavy fabric falls away, leaving her in nothing but silver sandals and black underwear. She sits on my lap, thighs trapping mine together as she kisses me again. Her touches are soft, gentle, but somehow huge; the feel of her on me is overwhelming. She gets rid of my bra and presses her palms against my breasts, giving them the same tender caresses.

“I want more.” I manage to gasp out.

She looks me over and nods solemnly, pushing me back onto the bed suddenly. Now she is all animal, the softness gone as she rolls us over the bed and claws at my flesh. Our shoes get lost in the tussle, our lips are pushed together with bruising force and she showers nipping bites down my neck and shoulders.

“Pam, please, more.”

She snakes a manicured hand into my underwear and hisses at the moisture hanging heavy in my curls. Her fingertip slides along my folds and I buck under her. She dips her fingertip inside me and time slows until there is nothing but the heat of her within me and the cold air everywhere we’re not touching. Slowly, deliberately, she pushes into me, sliding in and out while her tongue trails up and down my neck. I push my hips up towards her and grab her arms, rocking slightly into her thrusts. She slips out and fastens her fingers on my clit, circling the sensitive bud as she plunges her tongue into my mouth. I’m moaning now and writhing around beneath her, and I want it to go on forever and I know I can’t hold out. Her other hand grips my thigh as her fingers dance against my slick nerve endings and I’m too far gone. It flies down my spine like an electric shock (and believe me, I’ve had enough of those). I crumple, limbs splaying out as I moan low and long and hopefully not too loud. She raises a hand shiny with my cum and wipes it on the pastel sheets, dropping her head on my chest.

“Wow.”

“Oh good, it’s not just me then.” She snickers.

“That was…”

“Yes.”

I want to touch her, I do. I want to make her feel all the things she just did to me but my body just won’t cooperate.

“Your guests are going to think you’re neglecting them.”

“Fuck my guests.”

“You already have.” I tease.

She shoots me an adorably exasperated look and I giggle.

“Maybe I should just have security throw them all out so I can stay here with you.”

I sit up violently, glancing around for a clock.

“Oh gosh, I can’t – Pam, I can’t stay. There’s someone, a guy and I mean it’s all complicated and fucked up because _he’s_ complicated and fucked up but I need to get back.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks in an arch tone.

“I don’t know. I want to stay...”

“Then stay.”

There’s a hundred arguments I could use, but in the end I don’t want to leave the warm circle of her arms so I snuggle in closer. I run my palm across her cheek and smile what feels like the biggest smile I’ve had in a while.

*****

Somehow I can’t get out of bed the next morning, or the afternoon, or the evening either. Every time I start thinking it’s time to go a pale arm snakes around my neck and pulls me back into her kiss. I tentatively return her touch, growing bolder with the way her breath hitches and her legs shake. She whispers my name hot in my ear and I explore her, from the crook of her elbow to the tips of her toes. She trembles as she comes and I feel a sense of power that’s totally foreign. But too soon it’s dark again and I feel a tug for my lunatic love. He’s injured; he’ll be cranky and sad and he’ll need me.

“I have to go.”

“Will you come and see me again?”

I kiss her hand. “Count on it.”

She drives me back downtown but I refuse to let her drop me at our door. I kiss her goodbye and almost choke on the sobs that come unbidden.

“I’ll call you. Promise.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Harl.”

She drives off and I stand there for ages, too long. It’s a dangerous part of town and it’s cold all of a sudden, and by the time I reach the new hideout I’m almost running to get inside.

“Where have you been?”

“I got cornered by the Bat, had to lay low.”

“Are you sure you weren’t followed?” His voice is thick with concern.

“No, I ditched the outfit and went incognito. Pretty clever, huh?”

“I doubt it.”

Mr J rubs some of the shine off my mood – the thought of him’s been doing it all day, making those perfect moments with Pam just a little uncomfortable. I try to stay buoyant though, fussing over his arm and fetching him dinner, and afterwards he lets me curl up next to him on the couch while he reads the paper. But he won’t come to bed and I end up alone between the cold sheets, wishing I was back with her.

*****

The next time we meet is at a boutique in the glam sector of Gotham. I glance over my glasses nervously but she just grabs my hand with a laugh and drags me into the fitting rooms. My worries melt away as her lips fasten around my clit, head bashing back into the wall as I try to stay standing. After, we walk out completely casually and halfway down the block I lose it, clutching my sides I’m laughing so bad.

“You are one evil lady, Pam.”

She looks a little annoyed, but it’s only for a second and then the smug grin is back.

“Wanna get ice cream?”

She doesn’t ask me about Mr J, even when I start glancing at my watch. Instead she draws closer, rubbing her thigh against mine under the table and pressing her arm up close.

“You gotta go?”

I want to tell her why, like that would soften it, but where do I even start? How do you explain something like me and Mr J? So I kiss her and walk out without looking back.

*****

The time after that is a little different. Mr J is feeling his old self again and we’re in the middle of robbing the Gotham Natural History Museum when I stray away from the henchmen. There’s a funny-looking squirrel thing stuffed in a case and I’m tilting my head to get a better look when an alarm sounds from the other side of the building. I run, not sure where, just away from the entrance. I know Mr J and the boys will be headed for the car parked out back, and I slide out through a side door into the alley.

“Mr J!” I call, waving an arm as I sprint towards them.

“What are you waiting for? Drive!” he snaps and the muscle behind the wheel tears off, leaving me almost tripping over my feet at a utility door.

“Mr J?” It’s a mumble, nothing more. I know I should keep going before Gotham’s finest and old Jim arrive but all the wind’s been knocked out of me. _Just a moment_ , I think, _I’ll just take a moment_.

Then the utility door slams open and it’s her, standing there in skin tight green and high boots with an armful of pot plant.

“Pam?” I squeak.

She looks me over, confused by the face paint and mask.

“Harl? What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?”

There’s sirens, close now, and she grabs my arm.

“Come on.”

Her car is a couple of streets over and we jump in, zipping down the avenues to God knows where as I hug her prize to my chest.

“You stole a plant.”

“Not just a plant, the last of its kind. Those fools were going to let it die on display like a trophy. I might be able to clone it and revive the species.”

“You look good.”

“Thanks. I’d say the same, but honestly I’m a tad thrown by the hat.”

“So you’re Poison Ivy. I’ve heard about you, from when I worked at Arkham.”

She bristles at the mention of the Asylum and I don’t blame her.

“You haven’t told me what you were doing at the museum.”

“I was there with Mr J. He wanted to steal some big bird thing, it was gonna be part of his next scheme.”

She takes a corner sharply and looks at me with a pained expression.

“Mr J? You’re _Joker’s_ girl?”

I nod helpfully, wishing she would keep her eyes on the road.

“Explains the outfit then. Oh God, this is just a mess.”

We pull up to her place – not her big estate, an apartment in the nicer part of town. She parks under the building and we take the stairs two at a time, slipping into her studio before any of the neighbours notice two girls in spandex with a giant tropical plant. This place is obvious for the illicit side of her studies; the room is taken up almost entirely by specimens under glass and evil-looking chemical vials. The only thing not lab-related is a mattress in one corner with rumpled sheets. She takes the pilfered flower from me and sets it gently on a bench, examining the leaves thoroughly for damage from our getaway.

“What does this mean?” I choke out.

“In some ways it makes things easier. We’re both on the wrong side of the law – and that blasted flying menace. We don’t have to lie about who we are.”

“But the thing with Mr J-”

“What happened? Where was he?”

I look away. “He left me behind.”

She looks furious; in two steps she’s crossed back to where I’m hovering in the doorway and slammed me against the wall. Her lips are insistent, rough, wonderful. She drags the cowl and mask off, leaving my hair in a crazy tangle. My black lipstick is smeared over her red and she’s got white paint on both hands from grabbing my face. I force her backwards, throwing her down into the mattress as I fight to strip off her suit. She’s already got my zip down and now we’re both awkwardly shucking out of our costumes. I dive straight for her nipples, closing my lips around them as I flick with my tongue and suck on each, hands clawing at her hips. She reaches down and I’m already soaking wet, her fingers sliding in too easily as I tip my head back and moan. I twist my fingers in the soft red curls between her thighs, dipping down to stroke her cleft. She shimmies under me, thrusting up haphazardly as I enter her depths with sharp, hard strokes. We’re crooning in harmony, rocking into each other as I press my chest to hers and kiss her. Pam, Ivy, whoever she is, she’s all around me and I’m coming apart in her hands. The line between Harley and Harleen has never been more blurred as I come with a whole body shiver. She clamps down on my twitching fingers and shouts and we’re collapsing back onto the bed, covered in sweat. She’s got patches of white all over her and for some reason that’s hilarious, and I can’t hold back a chuckle.

“Pam?”

“Hmm?”

“You wouldn’t leave me behind, would you?”

Her face says it before she can even get the words out, and I’m crying like a fool into her shoulder.

“There now, Harl. It’s alright.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

I cry for a while and she never stops stroking my back. Eventually I feel a bit calmer and she draws back.

“Do you love him?”

“I used to. Or maybe I was just a doctor obsessed with an interesting patient. He seemed so wounded, like a sweet little boy who just wanted to make people happy.”

She snorts quietly and I smile.

“I know. Not the most accurate description. He’s been pulling my strings since we met. I busted him out, gave up my whole life, and half the time he acts like I’m a lackey and the other half he wants…I dunno. An audience?”

“A punching bag, from the looks of it.”

Her lips are tight as she runs a finger over the hand-shaped bruise on my throat. I’d forgotten it was there: some stupid remark about Batman while Mr J was going over the museum heist outline with the minions. He’d flung me aside, no hint of laughter in his eyes as he carried on with his instructions. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he’s thinking about me. I wonder why I care.

The gorgeous criminal scientist tickles my ear with her tongue and I decide not to wonder anymore tonight.

“Ready for round two?”

*****

It’s on the front page the next day: Mr J is back in Arkham, courtesy of one B-Man. I don’t mind so much, though one part of me stills hopes he didn’t rough him up too bad. There’s just not enough time to moon over Mr J as Pam potters around with her new baby and cooks me eggs and insists on giving me endless massages that always lead to other kinds of touching.  We sneak out at night and go dancing in our normal clothes, or break out our more colourful stuff and have less legal fun. Pretty soon they’re all talking about us, the new crime queens of Gotham, and we’re on the news so often I know Mr J has to have heard. I wonder what he’s thinking. I worry that I’ve hurt him, then I get mad at myself for caring. Pam never says a word about him, just watches me sidelong sometimes. I try to reassure her with kisses and shiny presents and leafy ones. We talk about leaving Gotham, going somewhere where we can breathe. I could go back to practicing and she could grow a new garden and we could be anonymous and happy. Maybe I haven’t lost my spark after all.

“Harl, would you stop looking so damn moody and come to bed?”

I smirk. “Anyone would think you were impatient, Red.”

“Would they?”

“Not me though. I know you better.”

“Yes.”


End file.
